Sophie got the zoomies

 

My kitchen floor after Sophie's zoomies

Sophie and I pretty much have a morning routine. If she wakes too much before seven, I placate with a snippet of cheese and tell her to go back to sleep. Inevitably, she wakes me again right at seven. I feed her and let her out, and by the time I’ve gone to the bathroom myself, she is back in, waiting for another piece of cheese. Then we both goi back to sleep. This morning, that all went haywire. She did not come back in. I looked out, and she was racing along one side of the yard at top speed—and top speed for Sophie is darn fast. It’s the Australian shepherd in her.

My calls of “Cheese” went unheeded. She’d run from one end to the other and then freeze, as though she thought she was a hunting dog on point. Only her tail would move, and it would wag vigorously. I went outside with the piece of cheese. Nothing. So, I went outside with the leash, having sunk so low that I was willing to pretend she was going somewhere. She ignored me. Since it was Sunday morning and my neighbors—and my family—were probably trying to sleep, I was grateful she didn’t bark much. When she did, it was high-pitched, almost a squeak—from excitement.

Finally I did what goes against my every principle: I left the door ajar and went back to bed. But I didn’t sleep. Every fifteen minutes or so, I got up to check on her. She was still running. Finally a little after nine I got up and started on my day. To get her in for her morning shot, I had to call Christian—of course she came to him right away. He gave her a shot, and I confined her to the cottage.

I had warned Christian not to leave water in her dish, but he thought she’d already splashed a bit and that was the end of it. Little did he know. She was mad at me, especially when barking to tell me she wanted to go out had no effect. She banged the food dishes around a bit and then, in her anger, flipped the water bowl and walked in it. You see above a picture of the results. I triple-mopped the floor, and it still needs to be done professionally.

One advantage—during all those fifteen-minute dozes, I did really good work in my head. Noted the next scene in the novel-in-progress and came up with a plan—and titles—for the first four chapters of pieces of my cottage memoir. When I finally got to my computer, I made notes of all that had been racing through my brain.

Apparently, however, Soph was not through with the zoomies—or at least the squirrels. I let her out a bit after noon, and she went right back to running and barking. Veterinary experts tell us the zoomies are natural to all dogs and result from pent-up energy. Zoomies are not bad for dogs—in fact, they look like they’re having a barrel of fun when they’re running. But there is always the danger that running so fast they will injure themselves. Once, before we got rid of deconstructed granite in some flower beds, Soph tore the pads on her paws badly and was off her feet for several days while we treated with salves and ointments. And let’s be realistic—she is twelve years old and has a chronic condition and six months ago was at death’s door. I worried a lot about her this morning.

The squirrels are to blame, of course. They know exactly what they are doing when they tease her, and she falls for it every time. What they say about dogs having the thought processes of a two-year-old is so true!

Tonight we had happy hour with the neighbors directly behind us. Two or three years ago, they asked me to sign an easement waiver or whatever so they could build a cabana/guest house closer to the property line. My cottage also sits too close to the line, but it was obviously built before zoning restrictions. They are good neighbors, nice people (with sons about Jacob’s age), and I was glad to do it. They and their architect—who also designed the renovation of my cottage—were most considerate of my privacy. The new structure directly blocks the view from my bathroom window, but a fence covered in honeysuckle hides their pool equipment and, besides, who spends a lot of time staring out the bathroom window? Windows on my side of their cabana are for ventilation only and are up high—all they see is trees, which is pleasant for them and keeps my bathroom private.

So tonight we saw the finished project, and it is classy. The cabana matches the house and faces the new pool. The main, two-story house has a new screened-in porch on the first level and an open porch above which must be off their master bedroom. They’ve created a lovely oasis, and I was delighted to see it. Having grown up with a scrrened-in porch in Chicago, I am more than a bit jealous.

A nice end to an off day. I may have to take a nap before I go to bed. Sophie is now calm and angelic, and occasionally I think the look in her eyes says, “Will you forgive me?” Here comes a busy week. I’m looking forward to it. You?

Rain, busy squirrels, and a lot of good food

 

We had lots of thunder again tonight and only a brief gentle rain. Better than nothing, even to dampen things. Dallas is getting deluges, and we are getting gentle showers. I’d love something in between, but I am getting weary of non-productive thunder. So much promise, so little show.

We have another kind of rain however—showers of pecans. The squirrels in the tree above my patio are really busy. The eat half a nut and then throw it, sometimes with pretty good force, on the patio—or the roof or wherever they land. I sat here and listened to strange noises until I figured it out—took me a full day. The cottage is full of noises anyway. Sometimes in the dark of night I think it’s a critter banging into the walls, and occasionally it sounds like there’s one in the bedroom with me or in my closet. I figure Sophie would sound the alert. I’ve gotten kind of used to the noises, though like anyone who has ever lived in an older house, I am ever on the alert for the sound of running water.

We’ve had some domestic tragedies of late—the Burtons refrigerator quit, so now mine is extraordinarily full. Thanks to Mary for reminding me that a full refrigerator is an efficient one. I am less concerned about efficiency than I am being able to find what I want. I keep trying to eat up leftovers and clear out some of the icebox dishes, but I think they are procreating in there in the dark of the night. This morning Christian came out to get eggs to cook for their breakfast, and I accused him of taking my eggs. He patiently showed me which were his and which mine. We started out confining their things to the top two shelves and mine to the bottom, but that didn’t last long, and they are now comingled. I really didn’t care if he ate my eggs, so I’m not sure why I jumped him. A symptom of frustration, I guess.

Saturday, he announced that there was a leak under the deck. Turned out that raw sewage was flowing out of the crawl space under the house. It stopped, they decided it was the older bathroom, and they wouldn’t use it since it was a holiday and our plumber didn’t respond. But then Sunday, sewage flowed again, and no one had used that front bathroom. Christian did say tonight that they had all showered, and I know Jacob for one takes a long shower. My suggestion about few showers and scant if any apparently fell on deaf ears. So I’ve left a message for Keith, the wonderful plumber who has kept our house together for twenty-five years or more.

As usual, it was a weekend of good food. Saturday night was a Baylor game, and the Burtons watched, with company. Christian grilled pork tenderloins and roasted tiny diced potatoes; I contributed asparagus. I’m not fond of pork tenderloins, usually too dry, but these were moist and flavorful, and the potatoes were outstanding. Of course, he couldn’t quite tell me precisely what he did.

Last night being Labor Day I staged a faux picnic. Memorial Day and the Fourth of July don’t bring out the picnic idea in me, but Labor Day does. So I enlisted Jean and Renee. After that I realized my picnic options were limited by my cooking equipment. Couldn’t grill hamburgers, and skillet burgers didn’t seem quite the same; wasn’t willing to go through the process of frying chicken, though I honestly did consider it. In the end, I steamed hot dogs over kraut, bought some potato salad (how unlike me!), and made a spinach casserole with cream cheese and Pecorino (maybe the best thing about the meal). Jean brought a crudities platter and deviled eggs, and Renee brought some faux madeleines that were cake on top and brownie on the bottom. We feasted, and today I had the best lunch leftovers.

And tonight, we ordered in—Asian. We haven’t done that in forever, and I loved it. I grew up in a household where you never ordered in, and you never had what was then Chinese food. I didn’t know about all those little white cartons, but my ex-husband did. His mother talked about going to eat at the Chinks, which offended me because our third child is half Chinese. “Can’t we teach her a new word?” I asked. But tonight I enjoyed all of it, though I had forgotten how rich it can be. We had crab Rangoon and cashew chicken and chicken fried rice and a chicken I couldn’t identify but it was good.

My sons used to have a beloved Boy Scout counselor who, after a big dinner, would chant, “I am full enough!” That’s how I feel tonight.

And so back to regular workdays. Have a good week, everyone.

The devil made her do it

Stalking a squirrel--a quite moment
but it didn't last long

Sophie woke me at six-gosh-awful-thirty this morning, with the devil in her soul. I let her out, got her back inside after about five minutes, and went happily back to bed. Happy did not last long. She was having none of this stay-in-the-house business. She barked, she whined, she squeaked, she batted her empty food dish about noisily, and then banged her empty water dish on the floor (I got up, refilled it, but that did not quiet her). I spoke firmly, I yelled, I said things I’m glad she couldn’t understand. She responded by bouncing against the bed repeatedly. I swore I was going to teach her a lesson and stay in bed until she quieted down. She won once again.

When Jordan came out, I said, “Sophie’s on a tear this morning.”

“I know. The whole neighborhood knows.”

We finally let her out, figuring she might have to pee, but no, she was hunting squirrels. At first, she was quiet, running all over the yard, but then she began yipping. And I began worrying. Running is in her blood—part border collie—and it’s great for her to get the exercise, but the last time she spent an entire morning running, she tore the pads on her feet and was in miserable pain. It was almost eleven in the morning before Jordan got her inside and only then on a leash.

All this is funny in the re-telling, but it has a serious side. She gets into a manic phase. Once she’s in this mood (it doesn’t happen often) and outside, no amount of my calling, offering cheese, anything will get her attention. And being bound to a walker, I can’t go out and chase her. She doesn’t, as I hoped she would, wear out. And I am powerless.

This afternoon, she was subdued, slept a lot, no sign of limping, etc. Reminded me of the down phase the manic/depressives experience, but it was only temporary. By gosh, when I let her out about four, she went right back to it. I am leery but will let her out about ten this evening, hoping the squirrels are all abed for the night. Can I explain to this darling dog that she is ten years old and should be settling down? She won’t care.

The rest of my day was definitely on the downside. Some odds and ends at my desk—why do they take so much time? A good long nap, grateful that Sophie also slept. My friend Mary Volcansek came for happy hour tonight and at her insistence brought the snacks—wonderful smoky Gouda and an artichoke dip that I ate too much of. We had a good, pre-Christmas visit. After she left, I snuck in a second brief  nap, something I rarely do, and so tonight finds me at my computer, once again doing odds and ends. A happy hour cancelled, Poobah business, book review business, and a bit of Christmas stuff. I need chocolate!

Sweet dreams, everyone.

 

The devil made her do it

Sophie, worn out after chasing squirrels

Some doggie demon got inside Sophie this morning. She woke me early by barking at some critter outside my closet (praying it was really outside and not in the closet). I got up thinking I’d let her out, she’d come right back in as she usually does, and I could go back to bed for that extra twenty minutes. Cancel that as wishful thinking.

Jordan says the squirrels were insane this morning. I say so was the dog. The border collie half of her came out in full force. She jumped at the fence, barking and squeaking—seriously, she gets so excited she sounds like a squeaky toy. And she raced from one corner of the yard to the other, like a whirlwind. My calls of her name and my bribes of “Cheese, Sophie, cheese!” fell on deaf ears. She did not even glance at me. Like a child in the midst of a tantrum, Sophie was so caught up with the squirrels, she shut all else out of her world.

           There was a time when I let her have her fun. She was, I figured, getting good exercise. But I learned better. For one thing, there’s been a lot on our neighborhood email about controlling barking dogs. And then there was the time I let her run all morning. By evening, she was limping a bit. By the next morning, she was clearly sick, though I didn’t know what was wrong. An emergency trip to the vet revealed torn pads on her paws. An expensive bill, a shot, medication, and a lotion we had to put on her paws for weeks or so it seemed.

Our yard has grass, but there is a large area of ground cover with fairly tough stems and there are small areas of deconstructed granite—where grass just wouldn’t grow. Soph runs over all of that with gay abandon and frequently disappears into that tiny strip between our house and the neighbor’s. I’m fearful of even investigating what’s back there!

This morning, after half an hour, Jacob came out to get her inside, but he had to stalk her. She kept running, whereas she normally would have run right up to him. He finally got her and literally shoved her inside the cottage. I closed the door tightly, told her no cheese because she hadn’t come when called, and went back to bed for that stolen twenty minutes. Sophie, who never gets up on the bed when invited, decided she wanted to snuggle. She leapt up on the bed, dirt and all. But she doesn’t snuggle well—she wiggles, and she soon tired of it and jumped down.

But I was not to have peace—she was still in frantic mode. She’d come to the side of the bed and bark demandingly; then I’d hear her race through the cottage to stand at the door and squeak in excitement. She kept this up until I finally got out of bed. Believe me, I scolded. I knew, rationally, that she had no idea why I was raising my voice, but she knew she was in trouble. She turned her head away from me and wagged her tail hopefully. When I went about my morning routine—from brushing my teeth to washing the pot left from last night and putting away the dishes, she was right at my side.

At one point I reached out a hand and asked if she wanted to be friends, but she wasn’t ready to forgive me (see how that shoe got on the other foot?). She backed out of my reach and stared at me. Then she went back to her squirrel watch at the door.

As I write this, it’s eleven in the morning, and I am at my desk working. Guess where Sophie is? Peacefully asleep in a chair. The doggie demon must have departed.

PS: I took an afternoon nap, because I’d missed that sleep this morning (and because I always take a nap). But I wasn’t to have peace even then. The yard crew, who should have come yesterday, came today. To do our house and the neighbors meant they and their machines were here for an hour. Sophie barked the entire time.

Tonight she is subdued. Repentant? I’m not sure.

 

Pity parties, dogs, and car batteries—what a mix!

My tireless squirrel chaser

I threw myself a party today—a pity party. My annoying cold turned into misery in the middle of last night, and, after sleepless hours and wild dreams when I slept, I woke exhausted. Jordan and I were going with neighbor Mary to explore the HEB superstore in nearby Hudson Oaks this morning, but I cancelled. I didn’t have the oomph to do it.

That trip has become almost a joke. The first time we were to go, Mary was sick; then Jordan was sick; so today I said it was my turn! We will try to go Tuesday; pray God I feel better. I don’t feel bad, but I don’t feel good—ever been there?

Sophie, on the other hand, had a delightful morning. The squirrel population in our yard quadrupled overnight—they were everywhere, in the trees, on the roofs, darting here and there. Sophie could not contain herself. At first, I thought it was fine because she was working off energy, but that shrill barking became annoying even to me and I had no doubt what the neighbors thought.

Jordan and I both tried several times to lure her inside with cheese, usually a surefire solution, but she absolutely ignored us. I’m not sure she even heard us. In the late morning, I noticed her slowing down, lying on the grass to stare at the squirrels. At some point, she snuck into Jordan’s house and drank two bowls of water—which explains why she didn’t come to the cottage for water. That’s one way I often capture her.

Her morning workout was so strenuous that the sidewalk in the back yard is covered with muddy prints, and when she finally came in—after lunch—she panted heavily for a good twenty minutes. The rest of the day she’s slept, apparently tired out by it all. So am I, and I slept for two and a half hours this afternoon.

A bright note; the other day I set out to do some errands, only to find that my car wouldn’t start. The battery was dead. I am the original little old lady from Pasadena who only drives her car to church—I don’t even do that. We have tried to remember to start it occasionally, but apparently, we weren’t consistent enough. My insurance said they had a policy rider that covers that for only $6 a year—but I didn’t have it (I do now). Finally I called the folks down the street--J&N Auto Services. And yay for them!

I called one day when they were busy in the morning, and I was going to be out of pocket in the afternoon, so I said I’d call the next morning. I didn’t have to—they called me at 8:00 a.m. and asked, “Is this a good time?” I said “Of course,” and a young man was here within minutes. When I asked if I could call the office to give them my credit card, he said, “You don’t have to pay. It’s just down the street.” Wonderful neighborhood business, and I hope many will patronize them.

Tomorrow will be a better day! I just know it.

Storms, horses and squirrels

                Evacuations for Hurricane Florence are massive, and predictions frightening. I have good friends whose relatives are in the hospitality industry in the Outer Banks, and my friends are biting their nails, worried to the point of distraction. I too am worried about the thousands of people who will have to be moved. Every year these mass evacuations cause accidents and problems not directly related to the storms. And the storm damage—it can take years for an area to recover. So please join me in praying for those in the storm’s path.

And that includes animals Did you read the Misty of Chincoteague books as a child, about the wonderful wild horses of the Outer Banks? Things has changed since that day, and the horses have moved and changed, but they’re still there. I read today that they will be turned loose on their island—most are still so wild they would harm themselves if confined to a stall or barn during a wild storm. The horse caretakers all live on a farm near the horses favored habitat—a skeleton crew will stay, and the animals will have shelter but will also be free to roam. One person familiar with them said the horses know the places to go to be safe. One hopes—for the horses and for their caretakers.

If horses know about nature and weather changes, why not squirrels? A Facebook friend wrote that his facial hair always grows thicker as fall approaches. Someone else compared him to the squirrels, whose coats thicken. I have noticed bushier tails on squirrels lately. One afternoon I looked out at a tree and saw this strange creature hanging from a tree—like a hairy snake. Turns out it was an unusually long and furry tail on a squirrel—the actual critter was on the other side of the tree trunk and all I could see was that long tail.

I admit to being a bit like the squirrels. A sweater has felt good the last few mornings. It does help when the plumber tells you how good you look. My cottage obviously only has one commode, so when it isn’t usable, it’s a crisis of sorts. I called the plumbing company this morning, and they sent the man who has taken care of my house for years. I was not quite ready for company—no makeup, hair pretty rough—and he insisted I looked good. Then he confirmed it: ”There was a time or two there where I was really worried about you.” That elevated his compliment beyond mere words and made my day.